


The Early Morning Catches The Worm

by eledhwenlin



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin





	The Early Morning Catches The Worm

He heard the alarm ringing and frowned. Since when did a Mountie need an alarm clock to wake up in the morning? The city was certainly having a bad influence on Benton. This could not go on! Benton needed a stern talking to. 

When he heard steps outside, he stood up straight. The stifled yawn he heard was infuriating and he made a mental note to mention this in his talk. A member of the RCMP did not yawn!

It wasn’t Benton who opened the door. Instead it was the Yank, dressed only in an appalling pair of underwear, hair all askew and eyes hardly open, staring back at him. Then he closed the door right in Bob’s face. How dare he! And what was he doing in Benton’s office?

On the other side of the door, there was silence. The Yank opened the door, slightly pale.  
He kept staring at Bob – this was the height of impoliteness! Didn’t anyone tell these people, these _Americans_ how to behave properly towards an elder? But just as Bob opened his mouth to reprimand him, the Yank cut him off. How rude!

“Fraser … there’s an old guy with road kill on his head in my closet.” 

Oh, this was _enough_. “Young man, this is not road kill, it’s a very expensive and very well tailored _hat_ made out of the fur of an animal I hunted and flayed myself. And this is not _your_ closet.”

The Yank looked taken aback. Bob puffed up his chest. Just like the War of 1812! 

“This is _my_ closet with _my_ clothes in it. Who the hell are you?”

Bob turned around to get Benton’s spare uniform, because now he had to prove that this was his son’s closet – and was surprised that he couldn’t find it. On closer inspection the closet contained several pairs of dress pants, in good condition and obviously rarely worn, a couple of jackets in the same condition as well as some jeans, but no RCMP dress uniform. Bob grudgingly had to admit to himself and to the Yank that this was apparently not Benton’s closet. 

In the meantime, Benton had appeared behind the Yank, who was warily glancing at Bob. “Frase, do you know this guy?”

Benton turned pale and mumbled something. It was unbecoming of a constable in the RCMP to speak with anything less than clear diction. They had to represent their country and they had to do this dignity and pride! Had the boy forgotten everything he’d learned at Depot? 

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Dad?” Bob heard the Yank whisper, but for now he had other concerns. “Is there something wrong with a father visiting his son?” 

He felt slightly put upon. Hadn’t the boy always yearned for his presence, when he had been living with his parents? But now that he could visit him, Benton always treated him like an intruder. 

“You’re dead, Dad.” 

“That does not mean the end to a good father-son relationship.”

“Dad?!”

Benton sighed. “Ray, meet my father, Bob Fraser.”

The Yank, still pale, was waving his hands around. “Fraser, your dad is _dead_. It’s what you keep telling everyone. ‘On the trail of the killers of your father’, remember?” 

“And he got them! Because a Mountie always gets his man.” Bob could not understand at all why both men blushed. He frowned at them. This was not appropriate behaviour for policemen. Indeed, the manners of people today were sadly derelict. No one respected his elders anymore. A shame, really.

“All of this before coffee”, the Yank muttered. Benton glared at him. “I’m gonna get coffee, Fraser, and hope that this was just, whatsitcalled, an early morning hallucinations, y’know, lucid dreaming or whatever. You deal with that,” he waved his hand at Bob, again demonstrating his bad manners, “and make it go away.”

Then he was gone. Only now did Bob notice his son’s strange apparel: he had wrapped a sheet around him and seemed to be … naked underneath. “What is going on here? As your father, I demand an explanation!”

Benton rubbed his eyebrow. “Dad, what are _you_ doing here?”

“Visiting you, son. Although I feel that I’m not welcomed here,” Bob answered stiffly. Maybe he should cut back on his visits, if his son was going to treat him like that. He felt very indignant. He was trying to make an effort here.

“You may be right on that account.”

“Fraser, you done yet?” the Yank called from the next room.

“I’m done now.” Benton gave his father another short glance. “Please leave.” Then he closed the door right in Bob’s face. Bob was too shocked to react immediately. His own son, the one he had raised, to treat him with so little respect and dignity!

Resolutely he made himself ready to pass through the door, a somewhat strange experience, but he could not accept such behaviour from his own flesh and blood or from his own son!

But then there were sounds on the other side of the door – a mattress squeaking and, was that a giggle? Then other sounds, too quiet to discern, and … moans? A muttered cry ( _Ray!_ ) and – oh. OH. He should probably better not interrupt this. Bob hurried away.


End file.
